This chapter will bounce back and forth between Brian (in the present day) and description of what happened to Michael and why he betrayed his best friend. I hope you guys enjoy it, because this is the longest chapter yet.

Also, there are several song references in this chapter (not lyrics, don't worry; I'm not breaking this site's TOS). I didn't count them, though. I just realized there were a lot of them as I was editing this three days ago. And yes, this chapter was finished Three. Days. Ago.

Thank you to everyone who's been supporting this story. Here's chapter three squared.

MICHAEL CLARION, 17

I'm going to set the record straight right now, since the reader probably hates me. I'd like to clear my name before you get the wrong idea. Or, if you already have the wrong idea, I want you to dispense with it.

Let's go back to that Saturday afternoon, the one that came subsequent to the morning I'd spent on the town with Brian Dunkirk.

I really did care about the guy. He wasn't the most athletic, or the most popular student at school, but what he lacked in charisma, he more than made up for with heart. He was a genuinely good person, and, as of the time I left his house after dropping him off, I harbored no desire to betray his secret.

Even though Brian and I were best friends, we didn't see each other very often, owing to the fact that I lived a good forty-five minutes away by road. It was an unfortunate fact of reality, but until one of us moved out of our parents' house, there was only so much we could do about it.

Driving along the country roads surrounding the town of Strawberry Fields, I kept replaying the events of a couple hours ago in my head. Every once in a while, I realized that I was going over the speed limit, and therefore slowed down.

That was one of the things I hated about driving: It wasn't the most exciting task in the world, but it required constant attention, with potentially catastrophic results if you weren't careful. And, to quote Sonic the Hedgehog, "that's no good".

After we'd gotten out of the bowling alley, Brian had commented on how much fun it had been. However, judging by the direction of his voice, he hadn't seemed to be talking to me.

This confused me at first, since there was nobody within earshot. Also, Brian wasn't known for being one to talk to himself. I pressed him on it, and that was when he came clean to me.

My best friend told me everything, including things he surely didn't expect me to believe. He told me that there had been a package on his front door, which he hadn't thought much of at the time. Perhaps it was simply a prank.

And then, he said, he woke up the next morning able to speak in the language of Pokemon! That came as a shock to me, for I'd never before heard of such a thing being possible.

I did consider the idea that Brian might be pulling my leg, but that just didn't seem plausible to me. Why would my best friend lie to me about something so major, with such drastic implications?

No. He was almost certainly telling the truth.

Before I thought too much about it, I found myself replying like so: "I believe you, and I won't tell anyone. And if I do, you reserve the right to stop being friends with me. But I won't. I promise".

There it was. I had made a promise, and I intended to keep that promise. Don't they always tell you to be a person of your word, after all?

After that, we had lunch at a local diner called Billy's Eatery, and the rest of our time together was pretty uneventful.

The country roads turned into suburban roads spread out before me, and I soon had to contend with more parked cars. I'd put Bolt back in his Pokeball, since he didn't like the motion associated with driving. As such, I had no company with me.

That didn't matter, though, because I still had plenty of my own thoughts to accompany me. Brian had trusted me so much, to an almost breathtaking degree, and it felt as though I were holding up the sky.

I don't know when I saw it, but I began to get more than a little uneasy. Even though I was back in a more densely populated area, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that there was a white car following me. The color was so bright, it was almost like looking at the sun.

At the time I first saw the car, I didn't think much of it. Perhaps I was simply being paranoid, and I kept driving.

Five minutes later, I looked back in the mirror, and there was still a white car right behind mine. It was the same model as the earlier vehicle, and, while I couldn't see the license plate number while I was driving, I knew on instinct that it was the same car.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, expressing the full range of the seventeen-year-old vocabulary. "I'm being marked!"

My home was in the suburbs, but I couldn't just drive there. If I did that, the driver of the white car would know exactly where I lived. The last thing I or my family needed was a stalker after us.

And so I drove back out into the country, hoping desperately that I'd lose him or her, whatever the pronouns were of the person following me. Much like the license plate, that detail was hidden from my view.

It was quite difficult to focus on both the road and whether or not the other car was following me, but I managed it. After taking a series of twists and turns, I looked behind me once more.

Okay, I think we're good.

Nobody was in sight, so I sighed with relief and began heading back home. Trying to divert the driver of the white car away from following me had cost me a lot of valuable time.

It must be said that while my parents weren't too overprotective of me, I had promised them I'd be back by half past two in the afternoon. I'd definitely be at least fifteen minutes late, and the thought of causing my parents even fifteen minutes of terror and worry was too much for me to handle.

Mom and Dad aren't going to be happy with me. But do I tell them about the person who followed me or not?

I didn't want to sound like a worrywart, but when a car you've never seen before drives behind you for many miles, that's scary. It certainly isn't expected behavior to follow a stranger on the road for that length of time.

Eventually, I decided that I wouldn't tell them. Chances are that it wouldn't happen again, and if it did, I'd deal with it again. After all, I'd been fine this time, hadn't I?

The above line of reasoning is a very dangerous one. Just because you get away with doing something once doesn't mean you can do it again. It will very often lure you into a state of complacency, one that will cause you to push your luck and take risks you wouldn't take otherwise.

Were I a smarter person, I would have simply stayed at home for the rest of the weekend and quit my job, so that I would be leaving my house as little as possible.

BRIAN DUNKIRK, 17

I sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I felt extremely relieved as I did so, since, for the first time in several days, I hadn't had any dreams.

That's awesome. I want to stay here forever, just enjoying the morning. That sounds like pure bliss.

Of course, given that it was a Monday morning, the above wasn't an option for me. I groaned as I realized that today was the beginning of a new, hellish week, just like the previous week was and the week after this would be.

Except not really. I realized that this week would be worse than the previous one. Not only would I be working at the restaurant I so hated yet yearned for at the same time, but I would be doing so with national, if not global attention all on me.

As I got out of bed, my phone chirped, the sound effect it made whenever there was a major news event it decided I had to be informed about.

"What is it this time?" I moaned tiredly. Clicking on it, I felt a sense of dread as I saw the headline: Strawberry Fields Teen Subject Of Disappearance Case.

I couldn't jump to conclusions. There were hundreds of teens living in Strawberry Fields, and this story could be about any of them.

When I clicked on the article, however, my fears were proven right.

The face at the top of the article belonged to a seventeen-year-old boy a couple inches shorter than me, with brown hair and blue eyes. He was holding a Pokeball in one hand, with a Pikachu sitting on the ground next to him.

Michael Clarion had gone missing.

I tried not to have any reaction to this news. After all, we weren't friends anymore; he had made sure of that when he'd told the news media about me. He had wronged me, big time, and I still wanted some form of revenge.

So why did I care so much? Could it be…

Of course. If I'm one of his close friends, I might be the first suspect they turn to.

Gritting my teeth, hoping and praying that this wasn't the case, I forced myself to read the rest of the article.

Michael Clarion, 17, of Strawberry Fields, Sinnoh, was reported as missing yesterday morning at approximately 9:15 AM.

His parents, Bradley and Elizabeth Clarion, say that the teen had gone for a drive that evening and simply never came back. They are offering a reward of $100,000 for information leading to his discovery.

"We are heartbroken to share this news", Elizabeth, 49, told Vulpix News. "Our son, Michael, didn't come back from town last night. If anyone has any information, anything at all, that might help us locate him, we will be in your debt forevermore".

Bradley, 48, was crying uncontrollably and did not give a statement.

This story is breaking and will be updated.

"Wow…", I mouthed. "Just wow".

Just because I was unspeakably angry with Michael, that didn't mean I wished this level of harm on him. My hyperactive imagination was already running through ways in which he might be suffering right now.

I half-expected police officers to start hammering at my door with a battering ram, trying to knock it down so that they could take me in for questioning. I had no doubt that I would be the prime suspect in his disappearance.

Looking at it now, there had definitely been room for reasonable doubt, but at the time, it seemed perfectly plausible, even likely, that I would end up in serious legal trouble.

I'm not going to worry about that right now.

Before I ate breakfast, I went to the stables to care for our livestock. Yesterday, having deferred my chores in order to sit the interview with Vulpix News, I had learned my lesson. The stench of manure became almost too much to bear during the summer afternoons; indeed, I can practically still smell it even now.

"I have some news for you guys" I told Cheshire, Sandra, and Tutar as I walked into the barn.

Cheshire seemed to perk up at the prospect. Good news or bad news?, the Pignite asked me, his tail wagging.

I shook my head. "You shouldn't be excited, Cheshire. It's bad news. Indeed, bad isn't nearly strong enough of an adjective to describe how awful it is".

Tutar gasped. What is it? What happened?

I cleared my throat, bracing myself for the task at hand: Informing our livestock about the terrible fate that had befallen my ex-best friend. It was an even more daunting task than scooping up their shit during the hottest part of the hottest day of the year.

"So my former best friend, Michael Clarion, the guy who told the news about my ability to talk to you guys...he's gone".

All three farm animals appeared startled by this news. Gone as in dead?, Tutar inquired. Or is he just...gone?

"He's still alive," I replied. "At least, I think he is. Who knows?"

Something in my gut told me he was still alive, but my brain was telling me that he might not be. I wasn't naive; I knew that in many missing-person cases, the cause of the disappearance ended up being murder.

The question was, if foul play had been involved: Who? Who would have a reason to kidnap or kill Michael?

I didn't know the answer, but, assuming the news of his betrayal was common knowledge now, there would seem to be an obvious answer to that question.

Me.

So what are you going to do about that?, Sandra asked me. He is your enemy now, after all. In fact, I'm surprised you're so empathetic towards him, when he wronged you so much.

I rarely raised my voice in front of any family members (and yes, I did consider the livestock to be part of my family), but I did that day. My reply was the following:

"Yes, he might not be my friend anymore. I might hate his guts. But that doesn't mean he deserves to die at someone else's hands!"

Do I tell them what else I'm worried about? Or will they just freak out more? But maybe they should be freaking out, since this is a pretty serious situation we're dealing with here.

In the end, it didn't even matter.

You should go back up to the house, Sandra told me. Don't you have work later, after all?

Part of me wanted to stay and talk to the Pokemon, tell them all I knew, but sometimes one's "wants" conflict with one's "needs". I wanted to talk to Sandra, Cheshire, and Tutar, whereas I needed to eat breakfast and get to work.

After bidding them good-bye, I went back to the kitchen and began making myself some toast. In the middle of that process, my father came downstairs.

"Did you hear the news?" I asked him, which was honestly pretty rude of me; I should have started with a standard "Good morning". Fortunately, my dad was a relatively easy-going guy, and didn't seem to be offended.

"What was it?" he replied.

He doesn't know yet. Which is going to make this even more fun. It should go without saying, but I was being sarcastic there. This wasn't going to be fun at all.

"Michael has gone missing. They don't know where he is, and he hasn't been seen since Saturday evening".

My father looked alarmed. "Have the police been notified of this?"

I almost facepalmed at that. This is the top story right now, Dad, OF COURSE the police know!

Instead, I simply nodded. "At least, I assume so".

Once my toast was ready, I ate it at the table. Toast isn't known for being the most flavorful of foods, but it tasted even more like cardboard today than it usually did.

Today is going to be the worst day of my life.

MICHAEL CLARION, 17

I made it back home on Saturday afternoon, shaken by what had happened that day. First there had been the bombshell, and then there had been the car chase.

Both of those were things that part of me wanted to tell my parents about, particularly the former, because I needed emotional support. However, I knew I couldn't tell them either, for obvious reasons.

"Good afternoon" I said as I walked into the living room, where both my parents were watching reruns of Sinnoh's Got Talent.

My mother, who had been scrolling through texts on her phone while paying partial attention to the show, looked up at me.

"There you are, Michael! What took you so long getting home? You should at least text us if you're going to be late!"

I gulped. They couldn't know the truth. They just couldn't, because if they did, today would be my last day leaving the house for a long time.

"I was just hanging out with Brian for longer than I expected. Lost track of time" I replied hurriedly, in a tone that would cause many to doubt me.

Fortunately, and to my surprise, my parents seemed to buy it hook, line, and sinker. Rather than being angry with me for being out longer than expected, they seemed relieved to see me safe.

Little did I know, my safety was not to last.

For the next few hours, I mostly loafed around watching TV, both with and without my parents. Sinnoh's Got Talent was decent, but Sinnoh's Next Top Model was just cringe-worthy. Don't even get me started on those dating shows that my parents adored.

As we were washing the dishes from dinner, I was seized by a sudden urge to get some fresh air. As though possessed by some demon, I immediately knew I had to get out of the house. My home was practically paradise at times, but it felt like a restless paradise to me right now.

"I think I'll go for a drive out in the country," I told them as I was placing a bowl in the dishwasher. "I'll be back within an hour".

I don't know why I expected them to agree. You would think that after I'd gotten home fifteen minutes late, my parents wouldn't trust me out of the house anymore. In hindsight, I wish they hadn't trusted me.

"I don't see why not", my mother replied. "You're seventeen now; you've had your license for over a year. And I trust you to take care of yourself. Do you agree, Bradley?"

My father smiled at me. "Yeah, it's fine. Just be back by eight, okay?"

After I gave both of my parents good-bye hugs and assured them that yes, I would be back by eight o'clock, I grabbed the keys to my car, opened its door, and then turned on the engine.

At first, it was going great. The evening breeze felt like heaven against my skin; I left the driver's side window open for this reason. The sinking sun was casting long shadows over the land.

Overall, it was one of those sights that makes you feel happy just to be alive. I was in such a state of bliss that I barely noticed as half of my allotted hour had elapsed.

That's okay, though. I'm really enjoying myself; they don't call it a joyride for nothing!

I'm not sure when things started to go wrong.

Perhaps it was when I saw that it was now six minutes to eight. Six minutes wasn't nearly enough time to get back home, and I'd be at risk of my parents' wrath once again. The first time, they had been lenient with me; this time, I might not be so lucky.

I made a U-turn on a country road, but as I did so, I caught a glimpse of something that I'd been trying to get out of my mind for the last several hours.

It was the same damn white car from earlier!

At this point, it couldn't be a coincidence. How many times does something like this happen? How many people could be bothered to follow a 17-year-old average joe like me for so far?

Well, then. I guess I have a stalker on my hands.

BRIAN DUNKIRK, 17

Just like I had on Friday, I arrived at the Chauntecleer several minutes before my shift was scheduled to begin. Taking a look at myself in the car mirror to make sure I wasn't too sweaty, I tried not to think about what I'd heard earlier.

Of course, that didn't quite work, and I soon found myself worrying about it more. As I sat behind the wheel, looking up at the sky and shaking in fear, I probably looked much like Billy Joel does in the music video for "Pressure".

Just because I think I might be a suspect, that doesn't mean the rest of the town does.

Even so, the fact remained that I was in for a great deal of attention at work today. While I didn't have to hide my "gift" anymore, given that it was now out in the open, I knew that I'd get a lot of strange looks.

The clock struck nine, and I entered the restaurant. After changing into my waiter's suit, I was on the receiving end of one of these looks from my boss, Mr. Almaty.

"Hey, Brian, can I talk to you about something?" he asked me, looking slightly concerned.

He's going to fire me. Maybe that's a good thing, except that my family needs me to work this job. Still, it would be nice not having to wait tables anymore.

"Uh, sure" I replied, following Mr. Almaty into the kitchen.

Given that it was early in the day, and that the restaurant only really started to come alive for lunch and dinner, the kitchen wasn't very crowded. I was happy about this, because it meant slightly less scrutiny. But only slightly.

My boss wasted no time in getting right to the point.

"I heard about what happened yesterday, and that your best friend disappeared...just know that if you need to take short breaks today, I understand that".

I was rather alarmed by this, even though it was good news. It was the first time all summer that My. Almaty had shown me any empathy whatsoever. Usually, he just pushed me to wait and wait and wait. And let me tell you, when it comes to working at a restaurant, the waiting is the hardest part.

"Thanks" I responded, not knowing what else to say. "I'll keep that in mind".

The breaks might make today a little more bearable, but I didn't want to be seen taking too many of them. Even if I hated my job with an infernal passion, I also didn't want to show any weakness.

Mr. Almaty might be easy on me today, but that doesn't make him my friend. Not even close.

When you take a job in food service, or any other entry-level position for that matter, it's alarming how much power your boss has over you. He can increase your hours, lower your wages, or even fire you. He can do these things for any reason or for no reason at all.

So no, I would never consider Mr. Almaty a friend. I was at his mercy, and he had more of it today than usual.

In any case, I started waiting tables for that day. There was a lot of waiting around for people to enter the Chauntecleer, so I was waiting in two senses of the word.

Most of the day was uneventful, other than constantly wondering where Michael Clarion was now. I knew there would be plenty of time to speculate about it later, but for now, I had a job to do.

Today was Monday; after today, I'd have four more days of work before I could spend a weekend free from this voluntary torture. Hopefully next weekend would actually be relaxing, unlike the last two days.

Of course, just like Taylor Swift tells us, this is why we can't have nice things. Little did I know, the last few days had only been the beginning of a saga that would forever define the rest of my life.

At the time, however, I was only concerned about the next party at the Chauntecleer, and the next, and the next. In between tables, I had plenty of time to ponder the following sentence:

It's going to be a very long week.

MICHAEL CLARION, 17

I could hardly believe it!

The first time the white car had been following me, I'd thought that I had surely managed to lose it. I had made it home without a confrontation, and then I'd been stupid enough to go out again, not to mention unlucky enough to have another encounter.

Since I was driving westward, the setting sun was directly in my eyes. Having been short-sighted enough not to bring my sunglasses on this joyride, I was truly suffering.

I could barely see what was in front of me, but I could see behind me well enough to know that I was still being tailed. This guy just doesn't quit!

I had a burning desire to be home on time to fulfill the promise I'd made to my parents. By now, however, this clearly wasn't going to happen, and eventually I no longer made this my goal. Staying one step ahead of my pursuer was paramount.

And so I drove further and further into the countryside surrounding my hometown. I'd driven this way before with my parents, both as a driver and as a passenger, but never alone.

Before long, I realized that I'd lost my way. Not only was it getting dark, and not only was I still being hunted down by some mysterious figure, but I had no clue where I was going. As you can imagine, this situation had now gone from bad to worse.

I took another look behind me, by which time the sun had gone down completely. I sincerely hoped that I had at least gotten away from my pursuer.

Alas, that was not the case. The white car still followed me, so close behind that I was surprised the driver hadn't crashed into me yet.

This went on and on for what must have been over an hour, as the stars began to come out. There were a lot of them this far away from town, but I didn't let that distract me from the task at hand.

Every so often, I'd take another look behind me, but I was still being followed. At some point, I realized that I had three options: Run, Hide, or Fight.

Running (in this case, driving) was no use. I was convinced that it would be absolutely impossible to lose this guy, not if he was so determined. To quote the Angry Video Game Nerd, "This fucker's got no mercy!"

(And yes, I did imagine the driver as male. That's just the way I pictured it, and, as you'll see later on, I turned out to be correct).

Hiding wouldn't work either. Where could I hide when the white car would simply tail me wherever I went?

As I worked up the courage to do what had to be done, I noticed that my fuel gauge was getting really low. It was then that I sincerely regretted not having brought Bolt with me; he could have electrocuted the driver unconscious, allowing me to make my getaway.

I sighed mightily as I realized that I'd have to stop at a gas station. That would be the point of confrontation with the white car's driver.

It took about ten more minutes before I found a fueling station. There didn't seem to be anyone there, which wasn't ideal. Had there been other witnesses, the driver might be less inclined to kidnap me (or whatever else he intended to do).

Still, looking at the fuel gauge, I knew I had no choice. I was really running low, and might not make it to the next gas station. So I turned off the road, hoping against hope that the white car would drive right by me.

Pulling in next to one of the pumps, I looked in the rearview mirror. For a few moments, I allowed myself to take a breather, for I didn't see the white car anywhere.

Of course, Murphy's Law states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. So I shouldn't have been shocked to, upon stepping out of my own vehicle, see the white car pull up behind me.

The driver got out. He was a heavy-set man, wearing shades dark enough to completely obscure his eyes, who looked like somebody's bodyguard. In other words, basically like I had pictured him. He stared at me with an expression of determination, mixed with utmost loathing.

What reason does he have to hate me so much? He's the one who's been wronging me!

For a few moments, both of us stared at each other, not saying a word. It was practically a game of chicken, each man daring the other to end the staring contest.

Eventually, the man who had been stalking me for well over an hour smiled at me with a grin that I instantly recognized as evil incarnate. "I've been looking for you, Michael Clarion".

I didn't know what to say, but I did know that it would probably serve my interests to look tough in front of this stranger. So I replied with, "You don't need to tell me that. You've been stalking me all afternoon, haven't you?"

"Stalking is a very strong word, isn't it?" the man replied, sounding both gruff and indifferent. "I wouldn't use it if I were in your position".

"It might be a strong word", I snapped, "but I'm not using it in vain. I'm just telling it like it is!"

The big man narrowed his eyes. "This is not a time to be cute or funny with me, Michael Clarion. I want to know what you know".

"How do you know my name?" I replied incredulously, absorbing for the first time that he seemed to know exactly who I was.

"That is irrelevant to the subject at hand" the big man snarled. "All you need to do is to tell me everything you know, and you can go free".

Without warning, the man swung his arm out, grabbed me, and pinned me to the side of my car. I smelled a whiff of some chemical that I couldn't quite place.

"You're going to tell me right now, or else your last words are going to be your last words ever".

He's talking about what Brian told me. He must be. But how would he know about it?

People often say that they'd do anything for their friends, that they would stand by their side through any eventuality. There's nothing they wouldn't do, they claim, to protect their friends, and nothing could change that.

I don't deny that this oath is often made, but I can say from personal experience that it's broken far more often than many people realize. The ironclad bonds of friendship might seem like they're forged in iron, but they might as well be forged in Play-Doh.

As the man's grip on me grew tighter and tighter, it became increasingly difficult for me to breathe. I would choke to death if this continued; the man was far too strong for me to escape his grasp. I thought the following:

Brian Dunkirk, wherever you are...I hope you can forgive me…

For I knew that I would have to tell this guy information until he was satisfied, because if I didn't, I was a dead Psyduck.

The last thing I remember before being knocked unconscious by what I would later realize was chloroform is the following:

Telling my assailant everything I knew about Brian Dunkirk's gift. Feeling the grip on my arms get tighter and tighter. And, last but not least, experiencing a massive flood of shame as I betrayed my best friend.

And yeah, I did update the story's tags to reflect that Ash Ketchum does appear in this story, as well as updating the description. I didn't want to spoil anything in the beginning. I'll see everyone in three days for Chapter 10, which was finished yesterday.

While I was sleeping, we hit 35 reviews! Thank you to Eyeren, and I'll be more mindful of that in the future (she knows what I mean). Stay safe, everyone!